


Just to hear you screaming my name

by tolkienhorror



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Acid, Anal Gaping, Anal Probing, Betrayal, Blackmail, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Body Modification, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Cutting, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Death Wish, Dildos, Dismemberment, Eregion, Eye Gouging, First Age, Gutting, Healing, Horror, Impalement, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Medical Procedures, Medical Torture, Medical Trauma, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Organ Removal, Permanent Injury, Poor Celebrimbor, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sauron Being an Asshole, Serious Injuries, Sex Toys, Silverfisting, Skinning, Snuff, Sort-of, Suicidal Thoughts, Surgery, Torture, Trauma, fading, flaying, in short: no one's having a good time in this, seriously if this is not your thing and you click it anyway i really don't know what to tell you, silvergifting, spiked dildo, underage murder (referenced)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26320888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tolkienhorror/pseuds/tolkienhorror
Summary: "Your stubbornness will be the death of you", Galadriel told him, and Tyelperinquar wishes she was right.
Relationships: Annatar/Celebrimbor | Telperinquar, Celebrimbor | Telperinquar/Sauron | Mairon
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	Just to hear you screaming my name

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by the artwork of Celebrimbor's death on his One Wiki-page (https://lotr.fandom.com/wiki/Celebrimbor) and considerations regarding the history of impalement. Heed the tags and turn around if you don't like horror stories.
> 
> Thanks for the beautiful beta work! You know who you are.

_Your stubbornness will be the death of you_ , Galadriel once told him, and Tyelperinquar had laughed in her face.

As he prays for his end at the hand of the enemy, body and mind broken beyond repair, he finds himself wishing his cousin had been right.

Oh, he is stubborn, alright. Always was.

Too stubborn to see that he was befriending, believing and finally falling for a Dark Lord in disguise. Too stubborn to heed the warnings of people much wiser than him.

Too stubborn to give up on the only thing he's ever wanted for himself in his whole life, regardless of his own mistrust growing bigger every single day.

Too stubborn to admit defeat even after he's learned how wrong he had been.

Even when the orcs dragged him from his own forge, poison from the arrow to the back of his knee spreading too quickly in his cells to even call for help, in a stupid little corner of his heart he's still been _hoping_. Even with his own people dying around him and him being perfectly aware that his own life would end soon as well, part of him has _still_ refused to believe that his – _his_ – Annatar … His Annatar, who told them where to shoot, where to burst through, whom to take out first, where to _find_ Tyelperinquar … That the maia he loved was beyond every redemption, beyond saving.

He's been too stubborn to give in to that loss all the way to some fortress of the Dark Lord, haunted in feverish dreams by his former lover's enthusiastic face, by his bare, well-shaped form, silken skin brightened by the morning light falling through his window as Annatar moved above, around, inside him. Memories of happier times, before it was revealed to Tyelperinquar at last who this beautiful skilled stranger in his land really was.

And still, privately, silently, only to himself, the scared child in him protested, refused to believe, until the day war found him on his doorstep. Everyone, but not _him_.

 _Maybe I can make this right. Maybe I can_ change _him_ , he's told himself, foolish illusions the only thing to hold on to while he's writhed in his restraints, groaning into the sleeve of his torn tunic while the poison was eating away on his nerves and muscles. _Maybe I can save us all._

Because Sauron might long be lost to the darkness, but Annatar … Annatar cared for him, right? Someone who still cared couldn't be lost forever.

If Tyelperinquar could just talk to him … Clinging to that tiny hope with what was left of his stubbornness was so much easier than accepting the truth, back then.

He's been too stubborn to even be afraid when they arrived here. He's spat and laughed in the face of the orcs and their captains when they threatened him. His fierce determination to make his former lover see reason, to stop all this madness, had drowned out every unease about his own fate.

Tyelperinquar has still been too stubborn to admit how wrong he was about everything when the Dark Lord of this Age came to see him. Came to claim his war trophy, his most valuable prisoner for his cause, for himself.

It wasn't until the demon has torn the rest of Tyelperinquar's clothing off and fucked him raw, until dark red sullied both the ground of the poorly lit cell and the rope keeping Tyelperinquar's legs apart for his tormentor, that the face of his haggard, red-haired enemy blended into his lover's fair form, the narrow feline eyes staring down on Tyelperinquar shifting into the molten gold that he'd fallen in love with decades ago, but still filled with the same scornful amusement.

This has been when Tyelperinquar cried for the first time.

But he still hasn't been screaming then. He still isn't.

He's been crying a lot since that day though, has cried out all of his pain and regret and hate, but also all that his enemy wanted to hear, except for the one thing he's been brought here to tell.

He is, apparently, also too stubborn to break.

By now, he thinks, the enemy has accepted that. Watching the hope for success fade from his opponent's grin, bit by bit, has been Tyelperinquar's only pleasure in those last few months that he's spent in nothing but never-ending pain.

Sauron knows he's losing; he's losing the three rings he wants so much, the three he _needs_. He knows he's reached his limits, and that there's nothing left to try.

He's seen Tyelperinquar's stubbornness unwavering when he's peeled away every inch of his skin, ripped his flesh open with his bare hands and wrote his name in boiling gold on his bones before singing and sewing him back together. He's spent weeks impatiently petting his wolves while they were feasting on the stripes of Tyelperinquar's flesh that Sauron cut off of him, right before his eyes. He's stood by, more aggressive by the hour, while he's brought what was probably every creature capable of bodily pleasure in this forsaken fortress to rape all of Tyelperinquar's holes, just to leave once more with empty hands. He's lost numerous nights of sleep in his forge for new spiked and sharpened toys to stretch and fill all of Tyelperinquar's orifices with, only to leave his prisoner again angrier than ever, because there was still nothing but noises of pain on his Tyelperinquar's lips. Occasionally, a plea and sometimes a sob, but never a scream and never what Sauron so badly wants to hear.

At least he's gotten bored with actually fucking Tyelperinquar himself quickly enough, and in some way that Tyelperinquar doesn't have strength anymore to hate himself for, it’s a relief.

He wonders if Sauron knows regret. Not regret about all the sacrifices he's willing to make for his twisted goal, no. But does he mourn his own failures? Does he realize how much _time_ he's wasted with ruining Tyelperinquar's body too much for even for all of his sorcery to put it back together?

At the point when Sauron finally started to consider a more effective approach, he has cut out – in half a dozen surgeries, with Tyelperinquar forcefully kept awake throughout the whole procedure –, burned and crushed too many vital organs at once, has robbed Tyelperinquar's body of far too much strength for it to still respond properly to songs of reconstruction.

Truth is, Tyelperinquar has long been dead by the time Sauron starts bringing in the other prisoners.

His heart and lungs, sadly, are just as stubborn as his mind has been all his life; they haven't quite gotten the news yet, it seems. So he's forced to watch his former lover kill his people, close friends, elves, she-elves, two elflings, right before his eyes, and his eyes are long too dry even for tears.

It isn't until Sauron starts torturing them that Tyelperinquar gives in.

He still doesn't give the bastard the satisfaction to scream for him, but he sells his soul, piece by piece, ring by ring, for a dozen of quick and merciful deaths, trying to comfort himself with the gratefulness in these pitiful elves' eyes when their throats are cut. That way, he buys himself another few weeks, gives his body another couple of days to rot further, until finally, the location of the last ring is revealed.

The last save for the three.

By the time Sauron realizes that no single pained shriek of his people, and no sight, no matter how gruesome, of severed limbs, cut tongues, of eyes rolling across the ground of the cell, of guts thrown right in Tyelperinquar's face, is enough to give away what Sauron wants most … By that time, Tyelperinquar's mind, too, has finally started to die.

It's the only mercy of the Valar he can expect at this point and the only triumph he has over the creature that has taken everything from him. No spell and no song even of a Dark Lord can mend a broken heart, and by forcing him to stand by while his own people were tortured and killed, Sauron has finally broken the last still-intact piece of it.

It's nothing but a relief for Tyelperinquar, finally feeling himself slipping away. Finally feeling even his stubbornness, his best and worst trait of all, slowly fade.

It _should_ be fast now. Now that his body has given up even trying to repair everything wrong with it, he can hardly move a muscle in his chains without blood sipping from one of the thousands of cuts on his skin, from his nose, his ears, from somewhere inside him. But the darkness won't come, not yet, and he realizes, his last triumph will be a very bitter one: Galadriel was wrong.

By all means, his stubbornness _should_ have been his death, but it's in fact the only thing _still_ keeping him alive.

Pain has long turned into a vague concept more than something he's still actively suffering from, and this new-grown, patchy, almost scale-like skin doesn't really know how to feel anymore. The fog in his head might be building slowly, but when it will finally overtake, it will be for good.

Tyelperinquar doesn't find it in him to even be terrified anymore when his tormentor enters his cell for the first time in days.

He thinks that he's being moved, and he's not too sure why – surely, by now, even Sauron must have realized that Tyelperinquar's body is not even worth serving as sport for his wolves or slaves anymore, – but even if he were remotely interested what is going on, his lids are shut closed from the blood occasionally dripping from the corners of his eyes. So he gladly disassociates back into nothingness at the agony of being hauled around on a spike-studded, metal-plated shoulder which rearranges his butchered and scarred organs once more.

 _Good_.

If the bastard tries a little harder, he might even save Tyelperinquar a few last days of declining away.

The bright lights and sterile smell of some room that he vaguely remembers brings him back to semi-consciousness. His confusion only grows. If Sauron is foolish enough to believe he can stitch him back together once more in his lab, he should have started days ago. Even the sickest creature of evil can't be delusional enough not to see that this wrecked shell of a body is long done for.

The shackles around his wrists and ankles, the chains around his shoulders and hips and thighs – far more effort than it is necessary for someone who has neither strength nor motivation to move – are nothing new, but the clear, neutral fluid suddenly dripping over his eyelids is.

It takes Tyelperinquar a while before he can make out more than blurred shapes and the painful throb behind his forehead, when his eyes are being forced open by ice-cold fingertips. Looking right into Annatar's sweet, almost loving smile makes him wish he had at least enough energy left to look away.

"You were always my most beautiful creation, precious," Annatar purrs, and then kisses what is left of Tyelperinquar's lips, laughing when he can taste the bile in his mouth. His voice is honey and warm milk in a cold night in the mountains, and he's as beautiful as ever when he combs Tyelperinquar's matted hair and washes his face, his skin.

For a moment they're back to when nothing counted but the two of them and what they built together, and Tyelperinquar wonders if this is what going truly insane feels like.

Suddenly he wishes his throat wasn't long too ruined by acid and too thick things being shoved down into it to scream.

He's deeply grateful when the cold touch of metal against his torn and bleeding hole gets him back to reality, unforgiving edges of a sharp tip tearing new cuts into flesh that has long forgotten how to put up resistance as it's being breached.

"I'm going to make you beautiful for all your folk to see, one more time," Annatar whispers into his ear and then kisses his shoulder and his spine, before pushing on.

It's all Tyelperinquar can do to not sob in relief as the pole slips in further, spreading him open, another cruel, searing pain, but most certainly the last one.

He's on the very verge of consciousness by the time the spit breaks flesh that is not supposed to break, and he dives into the darkness headfirst, like into the lake by his father's house as an elfling, when it's all finally, _finally_ too much even for his stubborn mind to bear.

He comes back around to a too-well known, hated sensation of several arrows piercing his body.

For a moment, his mind is too far gone to understand.

For a moment, he's convinced he's still back in Eregion, that everything else has been just a very long and detailed and fucked up dream. That Sauron's forces are still approaching, and somehow, he's managed to get himself into a tight spot, with several arrowheads piercing his arms and legs, just one of them a little too close for comfort by his liver … But it will be alright, Annatar will be there soon, he _promised_. This is all just a big misunderstanding, surely, Annatar will help him save his land, his people, himself …

Only Annatar, his beloved, his partner, his mentor, his downfall, is standing right beside him, chuckling in sadistic pleasure as Tyelperinquar opens his eyes, nearly bulging from their sockets in shock when he tries to move his head, his torso, _anything_ , and realizes he can't, because his naked body is being skewered through with a thick pole, the end protruding from between his neck and shoulder, all damage done on its deadly way through his body repaired, and his heart and lungs still intact enough to hang on. With his limbs bound, securing him to his perverted metal deathbed, and a crosspiece right below his spread buttocks to support what little weight this ruin of a body has left, it has now become indeed nothing but a playground for black creatures to mock and mar. And before the day is over, it will serve as scarecrow for everyone who tries to defy the Dark Lord.

Tyelperinquar wishes he could be certain that he will not be alive for that anymore to bear, but he's made the mistake of underestimating his former lover once too often.

Sauron won't let him go until the very last minute, until the very last breath that this wreck of a body still manages to draw.

Maybe he'll even keep Tyelperinquar alive long enough for his people to try and save him from the only release he wishes for at this point. A bargaining chip in a long-forsaken quest for hope and mercy; the only thing he's good for now. And he can only hope that the ones he's trusted with his greatest creations - with his life - will not be around, won't be there to be tempted.

Because there's only one single person even more stubborn than him, and it's the one monster he's lost his heart to all those years ago.

The one thing that finally makes Tyelperinquar scream is realizing how much he's failed, and that it's now out of his hands for good to try and save this world.


End file.
